Rikers War Episode Four
by jsk
Summary: Kai Doran of the Bajora finds Riker


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Riker's War: Episode 4  
======================  
  
The Bajora  
----------  
(c) Jasjit Singh, July 1999  
  
"Captain!" Commander Worf reported from his station, "incoming  
message, all frequencies, general hail. It is the Bajoran ship!"  
  
Captain Riker stroked his growing beard absent-mindedly, lost in  
thought. Then, after a moments pause, he said: "Ensign, come  
about. Let's face this ship. Prepare to decloak!"   
"Aye sir!"  
  
The cloaking device that Riker had stolen from the Romulans had  
been fully integrated into the systems of the USS Decatur, and  
now the ship was able to cloak and decloak as they required.   
This was a capability which the Borg did not yet possess, and one  
which Riker was counting on to turn the tide of the war against  
the Borg in their favor.  
  
As the Decatur slowly materialized into existence, an incoming  
message transmitted itself onto the viewscreen of the Decatur.   
The screen showed a slim man, in brown-rust colored cloaks, with  
an earring, and a ridged nose.   
"We bid you greetings," he said, "chosen one."   
"Chosen one?" Riker was confused. "I don't know who you are  
referring to, but I am Captain William T. Riker, of the  
Resistance Starship Decatur."  
  
The thin man smiled. "I know," he said, "we come with the orb of  
the prophets lighting our way in this dark time towards you. I  
am Kai Doran, of the Vedic Assembly of Bajor. We are the Bajora.   
We come bidden by the prophets, to aid you in your struggle  
against the dark enemy."  
  
***  
  
After Riker had recovered from his initial shock of how the  
Bajora knew about the Borg, he invited Kai Doran to the Decatur,  
to meet and discuss their arrival and purpose. The Kai had  
gracefully accepted the invitation. And so it was that Riker now  
found himself seated in the conference room with the Kai at his  
elbow, smiling elatedly.   
"You will pardon me if I don't share in your enthusiasm," said  
Riker dryly. Kai Doran overlooked this with a wave of his hand.  
"Today is a great day," he said, "the orb guided us without  
error. You see, yours was not the only world that was attacked  
by the Borg."  
  
Rikers eyes widened as he realized the implications of the small  
mans statement.   
"They assimilated Bajor?" he asked, his voice a mere croak.  
Doran nodded slowly, sadly.   
"The Bajorans were a peaceful people, Captain. We did not have  
the proper resistance to offer such a foe. Even the Cardassians  
fled before the dark might of the Borg. Our world was decimated,  
our people assimilated or killed. Only a handful of us escaped,  
from the temples. We fled in our best ships, and were fortunate  
to have the orb of the prophets with us to enable our flight, and  
to lead us to you."   
  
Riker nodded.   
"We will offer you what protection we can," he said, "but against  
the Borg--" he sighed and shook his head, "we are barely keeping  
up as it is. The Federation is no more. There is only a small  
band of ships, the remnants of the Federation, that is holding  
against the Borg, and even these few ships are dwindling. We are  
in no position to help free your homeworld, when our own is  
enslaved."   
"You are the only one who can do it, Riker," Doran spoke in a  
tone that was ancient and knowing, his eyes hooded behind his  
eyelids. "You were chosen by the prophets."   
"I don't understand what you mean," said Riker.  
"Tell me, have you had any visions?"   
"Visions?"   
"Yes, any....hallucinations, perhaps?"   
"No, I haven't. We've all been under a lot of stress, but we  
deal it, all of us, the way we best know how. Until the next  
encounter with the Borg, and then it begins all over again."  
  
Riker lowered his face with a sigh. What was it the Borg always  
said? Resistance is futile...  
  
...Say it enough times and you'll begin to believe it. Or go up  
against the Borg enough times, and you will believe it...  
  
... Then Riker remembered. Aboard the Romulan ship. Something  
strange *had* happened.   
"I did," he said, looking back up at Doran, "see somebody. He  
was-- a Starfleet officer. After I returned, I confirmed his  
name and rank. Commander Bejamin Sisko. He had served aboard  
the Potemkin. He was killed at Wolf 359."  
  
Doran smiled a knowing smile. "He is the emissary of the  
prophets. He appeared to you to show you the path," he said.  
"The path? to what?" Riker was baffled.   
"To the freedom of both our worlds."  
  
***  
  
Riker stood in silence before the ancient wrought iron box that  
contained the orb. Behind him, Doran waited patiently. Riker  
had walked up to the box with confidence, just wanting to get  
this action over with. Doran had insisted that Riker have an orb  
experience. But now, as he stood before it, with his hands  
resting on the cool metallic surface of the box, he was not so  
sure. It was as if his mind and body had slowed down, so that he  
felt calmer, more peaceful.  
  
With a deep breath, he opened the box, and the bright  
blue-and-white light of the orb shone forth onto his face. He  
stared into it's depths. Suddenly, as if struck by a flash of  
lightning, Riker saw himself on board the Borg cube, being led  
along a corridor by two Borg drones. At the end of the long  
corridor awaited Locutus, and a fate worse than death --  
assimilation.  
  
Riker gasped and stumbled back. But the visions did not subside.   
In another flash he saw himself standing at Locutus' side, with  
the cyborg implants already taking root in his skin and muscle.   
His mind and heart sang with the voice of the Borg ... "We are  
the Borg. Resistance is futile. Lower your shields and prepare  
to be boarded."  
  
And then in another flash everything was gone, and the wrought  
iron box was closed. Riker was left in the relative darkness of  
the little room, with the hum of the warp engines sounding all  
around him. Doran standing quietly behind him. Riker turned  
around shakily, wild-eyed, and looked at Doran with awe.  
  
"I saw--" he began in a weak voice, but Doran held up a hand.  
"Orb experiences are not to be discussed," he said sternly.  
"But," Riker's mind struggled for comprehension. "I ... It cannot  
... it should not happen. It must not happen!"   
"You need to rest a few days. The meaning of your visions may  
not be immediately clear."  
  
Riker nodded slowly and allowed Doran to help him out of the  
little room.  
  
***  
  
It was dim in the prayer room of the Bajoran ship Realta. Doran  
stood before the others, in his brown and rust colored cloaks,  
eyes closed and palms pressed together. He led the others in a  
prayer song, while Riker stood at the back of the room, his arms  
folded. Doran, once again, had insisted that Riker attend this  
ceremony. At first Riker had protested that he was not a Bajoran  
and knew nothing about the religious customs, but he eventually  
he gave in to the wishes of the small, stern man.  
  
The song began as a low hum, barely discernable from the hum of  
the warp core. It was slow in cadence and rythm, and evoked  
feelings of peace and calm, of stillness, of a long long cycle,  
like the tides of the Universe. Despite himself, Riker felt less  
stressful, and allowed himself to breathe. He let the pressures  
of the past two years take their toll on him, and he felt as if  
he had aged a hundred years. But he felt *good*. He had not felt  
this way in entirely too long.  
  
The song then turned into a chant, and there was a faint, very  
faint, cymbal somewhere. It chimed in with the chorus of the  
chant, as the vedics began to sway on their feet. Riker looked  
at the vedics, their eyes closed and their palms pressed  
together, faces raised in supplication to the prophets. This was  
a tune that he knew. It felt so oddly familiar. It reminded him  
of home...Alaska. Of the steep rolling hills of snow, of  
children playing out in the cold, of the quiet people who led  
their lives in peace. . .  
  
Gradually the chant grew louder, and the vedics more agitated,  
until they raised their hands high above their heads and began  
shaking their arms. They continued to sway on their feet, and  
then broke into a movement, shuffling this way and that, moving  
amongst each other, eyes still closed, faces to the heavens, and  
arms raised high. Riker watched the brown and rust colored robes  
mingle and mix until it was a blur, and he could not tell one  
from the other, face from robe, substance from form. They seemed  
to be generating an energy, but what kind of energy, he was  
unsure of. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. But the tune  
was loud now, and intoxicating. It got into his head. He could  
not only hear it, he could feel it. And he felt *good*.   
Content. He let out a long sigh, as if releasing all the tension  
from his tired, aching bones.  
  
He did not realize the peak of the chant. When he brought  
himself to focus again, he saw the vedics chanting low again,  
arms down to their sides, their rythm and volume decreasing,  
until once again it was no more than the hum of the warp core.   
At that, they all stood silent and still as statues, in two  
parallel lines, down which Doran walked with a shining silver  
pitcher, from which he poured a clear liquid into each of the  
vedics cupped hands. They solemnly accepted this token, and  
drank it.  
  
Doran reached Riker, and held the pitcher as if to pour. He   
looked at Riker questioningly.   
"I ... I will not be partaking, thank you," said Riker awkwardly.  
"You agreed to attend the ceremony, Riker," said Doran, his voice  
musical, far-away, "this is the nectar of the prophets. It is  
... a part of the ceremony."  
  
Reluctantly, Riker cupped his hands before Doran. The cool clear  
liquid trickled out of the pitcher and touched Rikers skin. It  
sent a sharp sensation into his skin; it tingled, and then it  
stung. Riker resisted the impulse to pull his hands away.   
Gradually the stinging died down, and was replaced by a cold  
numbness. He shut his eyes tight, brought his cupped hands to  
his mouth, and drank the liquid down.  
  
It burned going down his eosophagus. And it felt extremely cold.   
It was the strangest sensation he had felt. His mouth felt  
completely dry, but at the same time it was tingling. He shook  
his head, wondering what kind of intoxicant he had just  
swallowed. But he did not hallucinate, as he expected, and he  
did not have any ill-effects. There was no headache, no  
detriment to his capacity for higher reasoning.  
  
After a few moments to check that everything was in working  
order, Riker allowed himself to smile. Doran had moved on, back  
through the lines of the vedics, back to his place at the head of  
the gathering. Riker stood alone in the shadows, smiling. It  
was not the wan smile of a defeated Captain . . . it was a smile  
from an age ago, from a time which Riker thought was lost to him.   
It was a confident smile, a *victorious* smile...  
  
***  
  
Kai Doran walked onto the cramped bridge of the USS Crazy Horse,  
slowly but purposefully. Commander Yates and Captain Data stood  
from their seats as Doran approached. Riker stood a distance  
back, near the turbolift doors. He was in the background, much  
like he had been during the prayer ceremony.  
  
Doran stood for a few moments, unsure, his eyes lowered to the  
ground, his brow wrinkled in deep concentration, as if he was  
trying to remember a small detail that he had forgotten years  
ago. Yates glanced at Data, a tad uncomfortable. Doran suddenly  
straightened up, standing taller than Yates had initially judged  
him to be. He looked into Data's eyes as his hand reached up and  
held Data's ear.  
  
"Your 'pa is strong," he said.  
  
Data blinked. He was silent for a few seconds as Doran looked  
into his eyes. And then he said: "Do you mean to imply that I  
have a soul, sir?"   
Doran smiled. "Your 'pa is strong," he repeated, "when the time  
is come, you will not falter."   
And then he turned and went back the way he had come.  
  
***  
  
The hulking black mass of the Borg cube appeared as if out of  
nowhere, dropping out of the subspace fissure directly above the  
Decatur. Two shots aimed at the Realta destroyed it, the first  
disabling the shields, and the second destroying the entire ship.   
As the Realta fell out of orbit in a mass of fire and ruptured  
hull fragments, the Borg cube inched closer to the Decatur,  
engaging a tractor beam.  
  
An electromagnetic pulse fired from the Borg cube and enveloped  
the bridge section of the Decatur. And then a cutting beam  
was activated. The engineering section of the Decatur was  
targeted.  
  
Aboard the Decatur, general alarm for red alert was sounding  
throughout the ship. The engineering section had been sealed  
off, dooming seventeen crew members to their deaths. And it  
meant that the warp core was offline. The Borg cutting beam had  
been successful in destroying the functionality of the  
engineering section. On board the bridge, Riker stood amidst  
chaos, shouting orders and scrambling for reports. The Realta  
was gone, they knew that much. They had no warp power. Sheilds  
were failing.  
  
"Helm!" roared Riker above the din, "can you manuever?"  
"Negative!" came the desperate reply, "controls are not  
responding sir!"  
  
Riker gritted his teeth. "Doran," he mumbled under his breath,  
"where are you now? Why did you have to leave so soon?"  
  
"Sir!" Riker swung around to see the officer who had shouted the  
warning get thrown back by the arm of a materializing Borg.  
Shields were down, and seven Borg drones had materialized  
simultaneously on the bridge. Riker pulled out his phaser, but  
it was knocked out of his hand. He swung his arm but it was  
caught in mid-air by the Borg drone. Painfully, Riker wrenched  
his arm free of it's grip, but just as he did so he felt a sharp  
prick on his neck. The sedative took effect almost immediately,  
and Riker slipped into unconsciousness, even as he heard the  
phaser fire and desperate screams of his officers.  
  
  
Captain Data received an incoming distress call.  
"They have detsroyed the Realta! And they have Captain Riker!"  
  
Data stood.  
"Helm," he said, "break orbit, set course for the Borg vessel."  
"Aye sir," replied helm.  
"Shields on full. Bring weapons systems online. Charge main  
forward batteries. Load all torpedo bays. Battlestations."  
  
They reached the Borg in less then seven minutes. The dark black  
cube loomed over a defenseless Decatur like a predator sucking  
the life out of its prey. As the Crazy Horse approached, the  
Borg cube fired its torpedoes towards the ship.  
"Evasive maneuvers," ordered Data, "pattern gamma."  
  
But one of the torpedoes hit the ship on its left flank. The  
Crazy Horse tumbled out of control. Another shot deactivated   
the shields.  
"We are without shields!" warned the tactical officer.  
"Helm, distance to Borg vessel?" asked Data.  
"Two thousand kilometers," replied the helmsman.  
"Set collision course. Prepare to engage at warp nine on my  
mark," said Data.  
"Aye sir," the helmsmans voice quivered only slightly.  
  
***  
  
Riker awoke to a nightmare. Surrounded by the Borg, everywhere  
he looked he saw drones, walking, carrying out duties, in this  
surgically clean environment. He gasped when he felt the chill  
of the cold steel beneath his bare feet. He looked down to  
notice that he was naked. But something else terrified him even  
more. Standing though he was, half his body was covered in  
implants -- Borg implants. With a shock he realized the Borg  
drone standing to his left; it was busily attaching more implants  
into his skin. He remembered the images from his vision, and  
wanted to scream. He wanted to break free of the drone's grip  
and run away, or if there was no escape, he wanted to kill  
himself. But he was unable to even move. There were whispers in  
his mind, strange thoughts, tactical, strategic, timing...where  
were these thoughts coming from...  
  
Two drones walked down the long corridor towards him, taking  
their time, step after step. Riker watched them in a sort of  
daze, while the whispers of thoughts grew louder in his mind. He  
knew of a distant battle taking place; there was maybe one, or  
perhaps two ships, involved. He could not be sure. Those two  
drones took a long time indeed to get to him...  
  
And now he could hear. They were coming for him. He was to be  
led away from this alcove, by these two particular drones.  
Battle strategy, fire seven class-five torpedo with minimum yield  
to deflect trajectory of the incoming vessel. These drones were  
going to take him somewhere. Target tractor beam and assimilate  
population of vessel. Destroy vessel if resistance is offered.  
Riker gasped. He could hear the thoughts of the Borg!  
  
The drone to his left finished attaching the last implant and  
then turned around and walked away to its next duty, while the  
two drones reached him. They stopped, while he stepped down from  
the alcove that he was occupying, and then they turned around and  
began walking back the way they had come, this time Riker  
following them. Every few minutes the cube rocked slightly from  
impacts, or were they being attacked?  
  
  
Riker struggled to sort out the thoughts of the Collective from  
his own thoughts. And then suddenly, with a shock, he realized  
that if he could hear what the Borg were thinking, they could  
hear what he was thinking. A moment of sheer panic struck him as  
the drone on his right turned his face to him and offered him a  
chilling, cold smirk.  
  
They reached the end of the corridor. Locutus stood, cold and  
unfeeling, as they approached. He spoke no words, but Riker  
could hear his commands.  
  
...Captain William T. Riker, Federation Starship Decatur. You  
too will be assimilated....  
  
...Never. I will never be one of you. I will not cooperate...  
  
...The human, Picard, also offered us resistance. Resistance is  
futile. From this time forward, you will service us...  
  
Riker spoke the words he had been struggling to say since he  
regained consciousness: "I would rather die than become Borg."  
  
He looked into Locutus' eyes, those eyes so resembling Picard  
that it was uncanny. And those eyes seemed to be feeling what he  
felt, they seemed to know, and to reach out, and ask forgiveness.  
  
But when Locutus spoke, his voice was like ice.  
"Death is irrelevant."  
  
***  
  
"We are ready sir!"  
  
Data checked that all weapons were ready. Then he gave the  
command.  
"Fire all weapons. Helm, engage."  
  
Data and the remaining bridge crew stood. The rest of the ship  
had been evacuated in escape pods, which now floated behind the  
accelarating Crazy Horse. As the ship shot into warp, Data and  
the bridge crew dematerialized from the bridge, and  
rematerialized on one of last empty escape pods. From there they  
watched as the Crazy Horse met with the Borg, and the resulting  
explosion lit up the darkness of Space like a dark night   
during a fireworks show.  
  
  
Riker stumbled and fell to the ground. He felt a racking pain in  
his chest. He could not breathe. He gasped and struggled for  
breath. The lights had dimmed. The Borg were agitated. Locutus  
was distracted. Riker knew that something was wrong. The Borg  
cube was losing navigational control. That was one of the last  
thoughts he had heard before everything went silent again. The  
multitude of voices that he had begun to hear were fading away.  
Something was happening to him. He didn't know what it was, but  
it sent a searing pain throught his body. He fell onto his hands  
and knees, wanting to retch, but instead only cried out in more  
pain. The burning in his left arm caused him to look, and what  
he saw amazed him. All the Borg implants that had been installed  
were being rejected by his body, they were being turned out, and  
falling, literaly falling away. They fell to the cold steel  
floor in shrivelled form, diseased and dying. And with each  
passing second, Riker could feel the hold of the Borg being  
released on him. He looked up. But they were too busy dealing  
with another problem. The cube had been attacked. They were  
falling. They needed to restore the cube's power supply -- they  
had no time to bother with him now.  
  
Riker dragged himself towards a corner, and hid behind a power  
junction, while several Borg drones went about the task of  
repairing the damage done by the attack. But even the Borg could  
not restore the damage of a ship colliding at warp nine. Slowly,  
one by one, the emergency forcefields fell, and the Borg cube  
tumbled out of course.  
  
It was caught in the gravitational field of a planet called Luela  
IV. It tumbled and fell into orbit, and then entered the planets  
atmosphere...  
  
...Aboard the Bog cube there was chaos. Captain Riker was  
finally able to sit up, the pain beginning to recede. He was  
breathing hard, sweating profusely, but he was laughing. He  
wondered if he was delirious.   
  
The same white place again. No horizon. No walls. No door, no  
ceiling.  
"I am in the celestial temple," he said, recognizing it.  
"You are the chosen one."  
Riker swung around. Behind him stood Doran, clothed in the  
sparkling white robes of the Vedics, smiling broadly.  
"Doran, you live," said Riker urgently, "When the Borg attacked  
the Realta we thought--"  
"The prophets have much work for me to do," said Doran in his  
usual calm voice. "They, took me from the Realta."  
"What is happening to me? How is my body rejecting the Borg  
implants?"  
  
Doran smiled a cunning smile.  
"The nectar of the prophets has many, healing properties," he  
said.  
"Is it the substance that I drank that is causing the Borg  
implants to be rejected?"  
  
Doran only offered him an enigmatic smile. And then disappeared.  
  
And he was back on board the Borg cube.  
  
***  
  
Locutus was directing ships affairs, dedicated fully to assessing  
the situation at hand and dealing with it. He did not see the  
lone human aboard his vessel of drones stand up from behind a  
power junction, and turn to face him. Riker tore a long string  
of implants from his already bloody arm even as he did so, and  
discarded them, striding towards Locutus.  
"Locutus!" he yelled, "Your reign is over!"  
  
And he lurched forward and struck a surprised Locutus.  
  
  
The Borg cube fell through the planets atmosphere and rushed  
through clouds towards the planets surface. The Borg managed to  
establish shields just before moment of impact, so that the cube  
did not explode into a ball of flame. Instead it buried itself  
half into the ground, with the remainder of an incinerated  
Federation starship jutting out the other end.  
  
The Borg were grounded.  
  
  
T h e E n d  
(c) Jasjit Singh, 1999  
  



End file.
